


Musings on Bucky Barnes

by purple_charlie



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Babbling, Gen, I just started writing, Jewish Bucky Barnes, and then this happned, idek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 10:22:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20795081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_charlie/pseuds/purple_charlie
Summary: I was bored at a very boring job and thinking about My Son James Buchanan Barnes. This fell out. It has some feelings in it. Not sure how long it will be.Bucky is vaguely inspired by owlet's incredible characterization in Infinite Coffee and Protection Detail. https://archiveofourown.org/series/195689If you love Bucky Barnes and haven't read that series, do yourself a favor and go read it. It's. It's just amazing.





	Musings on Bucky Barnes

After Wakanda, after he regains control of his own mind, Bucky returns to New York. He doesn’t want to fight anymore. He doesn’t want to be a weapon. 

He lives in the tower because that’s where Steve and Nat and Sam live. Having everyone close makes the bad nights (and bad days) easier. If he wakes up in a cold sweat, the phantom feeling of the rubber mouth guard making him gag, he can just ask FRIDAY where he is, what year it is, and where his friends are. She speaks quietly through a small speaker that Stark installed by Bucky’s bed. Having a voice fill the entire room wasn’t something that worked with Bucky’s still-healing psyche. 

Sometimes Bucky will ask FRIDAY questions about the history he missed. She shows him videos of the colorful 1960’s, the glitter of disco, the moon landing. He likes Martin Luther King and wishes he could have met Rosa Parks. She reminds him of Steve. A small person with the heart of a lion, refusing to move in the face of injustice. 

FRIDAY plays him _We Didn’t Start the Fire_ by Billy Joel, going item by item and explaining each historical element. When they get to “JFK, blown away, what else do I have to say?” she stops and quietly asks him a question he knows is coming.

“Bucky, would you like me to continue? The files that Ms. Romanoff made public seem to imply that.. well..”

“I know.”

He remembers a convertible. A crowd of people cheering so loudly his ears rang for the rest of the day. The poor sap that HYDRA managed to pin the whole thing on, that Oswald guy. The rifle they gave Oswald was Italian, but Bucky doesn’t remember what they gave him. He wipes tears from his face and FRIDAY moves on. 

They continue with the song, Bucky spluttering about missing the Yankees win 4 World Series’s in a decade, and watching a couple of Doris Day and Marilyn Monroe films. He gets through half of Catcher in the Rye before deciding he’s more interested in punching Holden Cauffield than finishing his story. He starts making a list of musicals, wishing he could have brought Rebecca, his little sister, to them. There are flashes of her singing _Oklahoma_ tunes and dancing around their tiny kitchen. She’d died of pneumonia a year after he fell from the train. 

A movie list that’s been growing since he got to the tower expands with every verse, and he decides he likes the Beatles, much to Sam’s chagrin. He likes Earth, Wind, and Fire, too. But not as much as Sam does. 

The treatment of Vietnam vets gets under his skin like nothing else in the song does. The morning after he and FRIDAY get through that part of the song, he takes Steve and Sam to a Vets Center and they spend the day handing out food and blankets to the men and women who came home to nothing. When Stark hears what they’re doing, he sends Miss Potts with an enormous check. The woman running the center bursts into tears and grabs Bucky in a hug. He stiffens, still unaccustomed to positive physical contact, but slowly relaxes, awkwardly patting her back. She pulls away, babbling about getting his shirt wet.

“Just. Wanted to make another vet’s day better.” He mumbles, eyes very much focused on the floor. “Not everyone gets to live in a fancy tower and have a shiny prosthetic like me.” 

He, Sam, and Steve return every week, Colonel Rhodes coming with them when he’s in town. The other volunteers are star struck at first, but once he and the others become regulars, they melt into the bustle of the place. Sam offers to lead another support group there. Steve donates clothes and makes sure everyone who comes through the door leaves with a pair of warm wool socks. “That was the worst part.” He mutters one day, his jaw set in the Captain America face, but his eyes sad. “Worrying about losing my toes in the snow.” Bucky nods, remembering Sarah darning Steve’s socks until they were mostly repairs. They rotate through teaching self-defense classes each week, Sharon and Agent Hill joining in to help women learn to use their size and low center of gravity to their advantage. When Nat first demonstrates the twisting thigh hold that can bring down even Steve and Bucky, their enrollment numbers triple.

After 8 months, they arrive to construction on the front of the building. The volunteers won’t tell them what it is, and even Sam can’t weasel an answer out of anyone, no matter how much he bats his eyelashes and flirts with the staff. After two weeks, the manager, Kate, calls them outside after lunch. They follow her like enormous ducklings, gathering around a streetlight with the rest of the volunteers. 

“When Mr. Stark gave us that extremely generous donation,” Kate starts, twirling one dreadlock around her index finger, “He said there was only one catch.” Bucky’s jaw clenches, and he resolves to deck Stark then they get home. “But it was a good catch.” Kate finishes, seeing the look on his face and pulling on a rope.

The tarp that had covered the front of the building for close to 3 weeks fell away, revealing a new sign. The other volunteers erupted into applause, standing in front of the Barnes Wilson Rogers Veteran’s Center. 

“There’s no way we can thank you for everything you’ve done, but we want to make sure that everyone who comes to us for help knows that they’re in good hands, and are coming to a place with a legacy.” 

Steve’s face is the blotchy red he turns when he cries, and Sam hugs Kate for a long time. There’s a warm feeling in Bucky’s chest that he associates with freshly made pancakes, bath bombs (one of his favorite innovations of the future), and Steve’s ridiculous bed head. 

\-----

Getting to know the rest of the team is interesting. 

Stark continued to be icy until they ran into each other at the wee hours of the morning, each seeking out a respite from PTSD-induced night terrors. Bucky had made hot chocolate after a particularly grisly nightmare and was just adding marshmallows when Stark stumbled into the common area. They stare at each other for a moment, Stark’s eyes still wild with the remains of his own dream, before Bucky holds up a mug with a questioning look. After blinking rapidly for a moment, Stark nods and drops into a seat at the table. Bucky slides over the cup he had just made, noticing how Stark’s hands shook before he wrapped them around the mug.They sip in silence for a while. Stark rubs at his face. Bucky stares out at the twinkling city. 

“Thanks.” Stark whispers, gravelly. Bucky nods once. 

After that, Stark melts a little bit. Bucky can only tell because he’s lumped into the Tony Stark “giving you weird nicknames means I like you” club. He doesn’t really get why his new Stark-name is Cylon until he’s roped into binge-watching Battlestar Galactica (both versions) with Bruce and Tony after they return from a nasty mission. Clint comes in and plops down next to them right as the reboot starts, munching on wasabi popcorn. 

Bucky likes Bruce. He’s still not sure about The Hulk. But Nat seems to like the green guy, so he can’t be that bad. 

Bruce makes gross tea that smells like grass clippings, but he also teaches Bucky how to bake. Well, he re-teaches Bucky how to bake. Bucky has vague memories of flicking flour at his little sisters, of warm challah fresh from the oven. Bruce’s baking lessons help expand Bucky’s baking skills until the counter of his and Steve’s apartment is often covered in cookies, breads, and Bucky’s new favorite, Madeleines. Clint gripes about getting fat, but never turns down a slice of banana bread.

Along with baking, Bruce introduces Bucky to yoga. He’d walked into Bruce’s apartment one afternoon with a batch of snickerdoodles (Bruce’s favorite), to find the doctor twisted up in a very uncomfortable looking position on the living room floor.

“Uh. Bruce?” 

After untangling himself, Bruce explains the practice, how it helps to calm his mind and help him stay present in his own body. They talk about it over snickerdoodles and chamomile tea, and they set up a time for Bucky to come to a class in one of the rec floors of the tower. 

Bucky isn’t sure what to expect, but when he walks in and sees Ms. Potts talking with Agent Hill, he feels more at ease. He sits next to them, feeling awkward until Bruce comes in with his blue mat. They all chat for a few more minutes as the room fills up with SHIELD agents and Stark Industries employees in comfortable clothes who do warmup stretches or sit cross legged talking to their friends. 

The instructor is a small black woman with dreadlocks in an undercut who reminds Bucky of the Dora Milaje. She has a soft, melodic voice, and asks the class if they are ok with being adjusted in their poses. 

“Don’t feel obligated to say yes, your mental comfort is more important than a perfect cobra pose.” 

Bucky is surprised to see Agent Hill opt out of being touched, and he slowly raises his hand. There are a few other scattered hands about the room, and the instructor, Giselle, just nods. 

“Thank you. Now, let’s get started.” 

After an hour and a half, Bucky is drenched in sweat (he had no idea it would be this _hard, _he’s supposed to be buff, what the hell). He catches his breath as the rest of the class rolls up their mats, slowly drifting out. Ms. Potts and Agent Hill say their goodbyes, Ms. Potts saying she has to rush off to a meeting. She doesn’t have a hair out of place.

“Well?” Bruce asks from Bucky’s other side, putting his glasses back on. 

“I loved it.”

After that class, Bucky does yoga almost every day. Bruce was right, the practice helps Bucky to be more present in his own body, to reclaim it after the decades that it was a tool for Hydra. Nat joins him, then Wanda, and soon Giselle comes to teach an Avengers only yoga class. Even Thor joins in when he’s in town (on planet? Bucky’s still working on that), proving to be surprisingly flexible. 

“Balance and patience are essential for any warrior.” He explains from an annoyingly perfect forearm stand, his hair pooling on the floor. “Learning to calm one’s mind and one’s breathing results in victorious battle.”

Giselle is smitten with him, especially because he bows every time he greets her and insists on calling her Lady Giselle.

It takes Bucky a while to warm up to Thor. He’d read Norse myths as a kid, but being presented with a living being who could be called a god rattles him a little. The first few times they cross paths, Bucky either makes an excuse to leave or straight up leaves. He’s never impolite (Steve _and_ Sam would get on him for that), always waiting a few minutes before slipping out. He’s not sure why he feels so weird around Thor. He’s a big, friendly blond who cares a little bit too much, just like Steve, but Thor seems to crackle with an energy that sends Bucky’s skin crawling. Appropriate, considering Thor can control lightning. 

It’s not until the team returns from a nasty mission one December that Bucky starts to warm up to the demigod. 

“They’re back, Bucky.” FRIDAY chimes one night from the TV set. Bucky is watching another movie musical, one of the animated ones Clint says his kids can’t get enough of. It’s thematic, girls dancing and singing in the snow as a blizzard dumps down on the city. “You should get to the med floor, Cap’s unconscious and he- he’s blue.” 

Bucky is on his feet without turning the movie off, rushing to the elevator. It’s waiting open for him when he thunders down the hall, FRIDAY taking it straight to the med floor with no stops. 

The doors open to barely controlled chaos, Sam in a corner with three people in scrubs, covered in grime and blood. Nat is having a dislocated shoulder shoved back into place, her face stoic in pain.

“Bucky!” Wanda cries, rushing to him. She babbles for a moment in Sokovian, red sparks dancing over her fingertips before Bucky grabs her shoulders.

“Wanda. English. Please. Or Russian. Work with me, I don’t speak that.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She shakes herself, nodding. “Steve saved me, the storm is from another scientist trying to change the weather patterns who went too far, she had made a freeze ray like a cartoon, but it had magic in it, I don’t know how she did it. I got distracted by snow golems and she almost shot me, but Steve tackled me and took most of the blast.” Her lip wobbles, tears streaking down her face. “It’s my fault, Bucky, I’m so sorry.” 

Bucky shakes his head, wrapping her up in a hug.

“No way, kiddo. Steve was stupid and self sacrificing, it’s what he does best. Glad you’re ok.” He pokes her side until she peeks up at him, eyelashes wet. “Whatever happens, it’s not your fault. It’s on the crazy Elsa wannabe.”

Wanda giggles wetly, giving him a small smile. 

“He is in room 3.” She points down the hall, the nervous sparks gone from her fingertips. Bucky nods and kisses her forehead before racing off. 

Room 3 is the Trauma wing. There’s people in scrubs and white coats everywhere, shouting medical jargon Bucky’s only heard on Grey’s Anatomy.

“Sergeant Barnes!” Bucky turns to find Sheila, a nurse who’d helped him when he first came to the tower, waving him over to a curtained off section. Steve is on one of the gurneys, helmet ripped off, Thor and Stark standing off to one side. Steve’s face has a blue tinge that’s spreading unnaturally fast, despite the layers of shock blankets coving him. 

“C’mon, Cap, no more half century naps for you.” Stark mutters. He’s still in his suit, helmet off, bruises covering one side of his face. There’s butterfly tape on his nose and cheekbone, and dried blood in the corner of his mouth. 

“Wanda told me what happened.” Bucky says as he joins them. Thor is looking at the medical equipment, fiddling with Mjolnir’s strap. “How long has he been like this?”

“Too long.” Thor rumbles. “The scientist had somehow gotten her hands on Jotun magic. It is very strong, and I fear your doctors will prove inadequate.”

Bucky feels the blood drain from his face, Stark whipping his head around.

“Wait, Jotun, like your crazy- uh, like your brother?” Stark squawks, eyes wild. “What the fuck, why do I only hear about this now?”

Thor is about to respond when there’s a long beep accompanied by an alarm, and the flurry of movement from the medical staff increases.

“His heart’s stopped.” Stark bites out, clenching his fists. Bucky drops into a chair, his pulse pounding in his ears. Sheila materializes beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder. The doctors are shouting, but it’s all white noise in Bucky’s ears. He can’t take his eyes off of Steve’s face, icy blue, frost on his eyelashes. Stark has stormed out of the room, yelling something about Pepper and lawyers and national mourning, when Thor growls above Bucky’s shoulder.

“Enough.” 

Thor strides over to Steve’s bed, the cloud of doctors parting in the face of a true storm. Thor’s eyes start to turn a white blue, electricity sparking from his fingertips. He’s muttering something Bucky doesn’t understand, but judging by the ants tap-dancing down his spine, he figures it’s magic.

“I will not allow Jotun magic to take more of my friends.” Thor rumbles, anger obvious in his voice. The other doctors in the room have scuttled away, only one remaining, clutching her clipboard. Thor spreads out one huge hand on Steve’s chest and pushes, lightning shooting down his arm and into Steve. The power flickers, people shout, and Bucky feels like his own heart stops.

There’s a moment where the room is deathly still, quiet. 

Then Steve sucks in a huge breath and starts coughing, rolling to his side. The blue has faded away. His skin isn’t quite back to normal, but Bucky will take any color other than blue right now. Sheila lets out a shuddering sigh and drops into the chair next to Bucky, her head thunking back onto the wall. The remaining doctor hurries out of the room, and Bucky hears Stark’s triumphant squawk.

“Ugh, ow.” Steve coughs, trying to sit up. Thor assists him with a hand on Steve’s back, smiling tightly. Bucky stands on shaky legs, shuffling over to the bed. Steve looks up at him, scowling. Bucky can’t help but laugh at him. He’d seen Steve make that same face maybe a thousand times over the course of their lives. 

“I hate magic.” Steve grumbles, flopping back into the pillows. 

\----- 

After being in New York for a year, Bucky goes back to Brooklyn to find the synagogue he went to with his family. 

Beth Elohim is right where he left it at the corner of Garfield and 8th, albeit with construction on the front and new stained glass windows. Steve is at his elbow, hands in his jacket pockets, staring at it with him. He doesn’t say anything as Bucky stands in the rain and just looks. So much of his childhood was in that building. Learning the Torah, his bar mitzvah, all three of his sisters’ bat mitzvahs. He knows that place like he knows how to throw a punch, how to take apart a rifle and reassemble it in under a minute. This building is as close to coming home as he’s going to get. The building he had grown up in now a Jamba Juice.

Bucky surges forward, momentarily leaving Steve behind on the curb. He jogs to catch up, still letting Bucky have his silence. The construction workers nod at them as they go through the big wooden front door, and suddenly Bucky is 13 again, trying to hold the heavy Torah as he walked around the room in a suit that he insisted was too itchy but his ma made him wear anyway. He’s 17, attending his bubbe’s funeral, the song of prayers rising around him. He’s 23, and Emily Rosenberg is getting married to Daniel Markowitz under her family’s chuppah before Danny ships out. Danny was shot down 4 months later. 

“Hey, Buck, hey.” Steve is right in his face, and Bucky realizes he’s slid onto the floor. He blinks, tears pouring down his cheeks.

“Hey buddy, is your friend ok?” One of the construction workers asks.

“I’m fine.” Bucky says gruffly, steadying himself on the wall as he stands. “Lotta memories here.” 

The construction worker nods, looking up at the vaulted ceiling.

“Yeah, if this old gal could talk.” He sighs, smiling at Steve and Bucky. “Y’know Sergeant Bucky Barnes went here? The poor kid was Jewish and then gets captured by those Hydra fucks.”

Steve and Bucky look at each other, barely breathing. 

“There’s a little memorial to him over there, you should take a look. I gotta get back to work, glad I don’t hafta call an ambulance for you guys!” He nods and walks back over to the scaffolding, shouting at one of the other workers. 

“Do- do you wanna go see it, Buck?” Steve asks quietly. Bucky ponders it, shoving his hands into his pockets to stop them from shaking. 

“In a minute.” Steve nods, letting Bucky lead the way. There’s a bowl of yarmulkes just inside the door, and Bucky absently grabs one with his right hand, leaving the left in his pocket. Shuri made him a new arm in Wakanda, but it still feels wrong to bring it into the temple. The weight on his side is a constant reminder of the wrongs that he did under Hydra’s control. 

Steve walks beside him, adjusting the yarmulke on his head. They’d met after Bucky’s bar mitzvah, but Steve had attended all three of his sisters’ and came over for holidays after his ma passed. He could even passably do some of the prayers. 

They walk over to the middle of the room, sitting down on one of the long wooden benches. Bucky takes a few minutes to just look. Take in the new details and try to find ones he remembers. A gaggle of kids walks through, all in uniforms. The boys are wearing yarmulkes, and a silver Star of David is on the breast of their sweaters. A chaperone corrals them, putting a finger to her lips until all the children are quiet, mirroring the pose. 

“Now why are we at this temple today, class? Does anybody know why this temple is so special in our town?”

A couple of hands shoot up, and the teacher picks a red headed girl in the middle of the clump.

“Cuz this one’s over a hundred years old.” 

Steve looks questioningly at Bucky, who nods. 

“It was built in 1909.” He whispers, Steve nodding slowly. 

“Good job, Leah.” The girl beams, standing up straighter. “Beth Elohim was built in 1909, and is one of the oldest Reform synagogues in Brooklyn. But there’s another very special reason why this temple is important. Does anyone have an idea?”

The children look at each other as it dawns on Bucky. His stomach flips.

“You all know who Captain America is, right?” 

The kids nod or shout out excited affirmations, Steve turning pink and sliding down in his seat. 

“Sit up, punk, you’re in a holy house.”

Steve grumbles, sitting back up but turning up his jacket collar. 

“Does anyone know who Captain America’s best friend was?”

“Is.” Steve mutters, ignoring the elbow Bucky jams into his ribs. 

“Bucky Barnes.” Says a dark haired boy at the back of the group. He’s smaller than all the others, and Bucky’s heart tightens. 

“That’s right! Did you know he was Jewish?”

A few of the kids nod, while some of the rest and a parent chaperone look surprised. The tour guide beams. 

“Some of you have already had your B’Nai or B’Not Mitzvah. You’ve walked the same path, with the same Torah as one of our country’s most honored veterans.” 

Bucky can see Steve’s smug grin from the corner of his eye, then his shocked face as Bucky slowly stands up. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, sirs, I hope we didn’t- Oh my word!” The tour guide starts to apologize, but then her hands fly over her mouth. Bucky smiles, waving shyly. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt your tour. It’s just- my ears were burnin.” Bucky mumbles. “Heya kids.”

There’s a moment where the kids seem to be processing who it is who just stood up. Then they nearly explode, scrambling over themselves and each other to get closer to Steve and Bucky. Once they realize Steve is with him, they double in volume, the parents seemingly too in shock to do anything. 

Bucky’s surprised when he doesn’t feel overwhelmed by the kids. They’re talking over each other asking him questions, yelling, generally just being ridiculous kids. And instead of feeling like he wants to curl up in a dark, quiet corner, he’s managing a small smile, answering as many questions as he can. He and Steve gladly take selfies with anyone who asks, and the tour guide sheepishly asks if they can get a group photo for the temple’s website. One of the parents produces a selfie stick, which Steve volunteers to hold, and they take at least a dozen pictures. 

After they’ve left, sitting in a diner over pancakes, Steve pipes up.

“We didn’t even see that memorial. Wanna go back?” He tips his head towards the window, shoving another bite of pancake into his mouth. Bucky looks out the window at the rain-soaked streets of Brooklyn. The excited squeals of the kids are still echoing in his head.

“Nah. Maybe at Rosh Hashanah.”

Steve nods, a little smile pulling at his mouth. 

Bucky doesn’t really want to see the memorial anyway. Seeing those kids reminded him that his people have a future.

**Author's Note:**

> Beth Elohim is actually the oldest synagogue in Brooklyn. It's in Park Slope. The congregation was formed in 1861, and the current building has been in Brooklyn since 1909.  
https://cbebk.org  
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Congregation_Beth_Elohim


End file.
